


The Clothes That Make the Man

by orderlychaos



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Competent!Phil, Coulson doesn't always wear suits, First Time, Get Together, Insecurity, M/M, Phil in glasses, Pining, Slow Build, badboy!Phil, bottom!Phil, clint & natasha bffs, mission snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 13:46:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was something comforting in the way Clint could focus on Coulson’s dry, deadpan tone as bullets and explosions sounded around him.  Come rain, hail or bursts of experimental weaponry, Agent Coulson would be there, calm and controlled in that damn suit, like the personification of order against chaos.</p><p>However, contrary to rumour, Phil Coulson was not born in a suit.  This is the story of how Clint Barton glimpsed the man underneath and fell in love.</p><p>(Or five times Clint saw Phil outside of a suit and the one time he wore a suit himself).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allochthon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allochthon/gifts).



> I missed the date for this, because as you can tell from the word count, this one got away from me a bit :-/
> 
> I hope you enjoy it anyway, Allochthon! :D
> 
>  
> 
> Many thanks to totalnerdatheart, Yakkorat, sevencorvus and Henry for all their help. I couldn’t have done this without all you wonderful people! <3

If Clint Barton had discovered only one thing in the last week, it was that Alaska was really fucking cold.  Being as he was above the Arctic Circle, Clint really shouldn’t have been surprised, but then he was pretty sure his brain was frozen solid.  Alaska had the kind of cold that had to be experienced to be understood.  It didn’t help that the handler he’d scored for this mission -- who incidentally was a _dick_ \-- had assumed Clint’s complaints were because he hadn’t paid attention to the briefing and yelled at him about actually _reading_ his mission handouts instead of just skimming through them.  Clint had barely resisted flipping off the other agent at the implication -- Clint _did_ read what he was given, he just hated having to go over everything sixty times every briefing.  It wasn’t as if the details ever changed that much, anyway.

_Blah blah ass-end of nowhere blah blah kill target blah._

And besides, Clint had dressed for the weather, hadn’t he?

Not that it helped much.  Even wearing a million different layers under his large white, fleece-lined parka and waterproof pants didn’t keep out the cold, and there was only so much body warmth he could hang on to when he spent most of the day lying unmoving in the snow.  Clint sighed.  This mission _sucked_ \-- and not just because Clint was stuck with a rifle instead of his bow.  With an asshole of a junior agent as his handler, there wasn’t even any deadpan snark in his ear as a distraction.  Clint wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he missed Agent Coulson.  The agent had been one of Clint’s first handlers at SHIELD and there was no one else quite like him.  Coulson’s familiar, dry-toned reprimands broke up the monotony of hours of lying still in his perch, but as a senior agent, Coulson was too valuable to freeze his nuts off in Alaska, so he was back in New York with easy access to hot coffee while Clint was starting to resemble a Clint-shaped ice cube, despite the mini half-igloo he’d made out of a snow drift as a nest.

Clint might still have been relatively new to SHIELD, but he was slowly learning what kind of man Coulson was underneath the fixation with field discipline and proper comm procedure -- and being a stickler for paperwork, despite the minions he had to do it for him.  For instance, Clint knew with absolute certainty that Agent Coulson prided himself on being an unerring constant in a world full of weird.  On missions, Clint had come to appreciate and rely on that competence and efficiency.  Things always ran smoother when Coulson’s voice was in his ear, even in the bat-shit universe where SHIELD seemed to dwell.  There was something comforting in the way Clint could focus on Coulson’s dry, calm tone as bullets and explosions swirled around him.  Come rain, hail or bursts of experimental weaponry, Agent Coulson would be there, calm and controlled in that damn suit, like the personification of order against chaos.

Great.  Now Clint was getting poetic.  The cold must really have frozen his last remaining brain cell.

Sighing again, Clint sighted down his scope at the looming, snow-covered cabin he was supposed to be watching, but the building was as silent as it had been all week.  The reclusive weapons dealer SHIELD had been tracking apparently used the cabin to meet his more dangerous clients and normally this wouldn’t have been a problem -- Clint specialised in shooting dangerous people -- but SHIELD had intercepted intelligence that the weapons dealer was trying to make a deal with HYDRA.  Fury wanted the meeting under surveillance and recorded _before_ Clint shot his target, which was why there was a team of agents hiding out in a little command bunker nearby while Clint froze his ass off in the snow.

Scanning the area around the cabin again, Clint spotted a lonely coffee cup some junior agent had stupidly left outside while they took a piss.  Clint smirked.  Usually, he wouldn’t waste the bullets, but according to his last check in his target wasn’t even in the right state yet and, honestly, the junior agents were supposed to be keeping a low profile.

“Barton, don’t even think about it.”

For a long moment, Clint wondered if lying in the snow for so long had started making him hallucinate, because there was absolutely no _way_ he’d just heard the voice he thought he had.  He blinked a few times and lifted his gaze away from the scope of his rifle, relaxing his finger on the trigger.  Absently, Clint tried to remember the symptoms for hypothermia.  That part of the briefing was a little hazy and Clint wondered if that was because he’d been too busy trying to not fall asleep or if it was actually a sign of hypothermia that he couldn’t remember.  Narrowing his eyes again, Clint refocused on the junior agent’s coffee cup and adjusted his aim minutely.  Breathing out slowly, Clint curled his finger around the trigger again.  “Barton, what did I say?” Agent Coulson’s voice echoed in his ear again, this time sounding faintly exasperated.

“ _Coulson_?” he asked, because even if Clint was finally starting to go insane, Agent Coulson’s voice was not the one he’d expected to hear.

There was a slight pause, before Clint’s earpiece crackled again.  “You sound surprised that I would be the one attempting to keep you out of trouble,” Coulson said dryly.

Using the scope of his rifle, Clint scanned the snow near where he knew the command bunker was nestled in a copse of trees and blinked in surprise when he saw the parka-clad figure looking straight at him with a pair of binoculars.  Clint blinked again, unsure he wasn’t actually seeing things, because that was Agent Coulson standing in the freezing snow of Alaska.

Huh.

If you’d asked Clint two days ago, he would have said it would have been impossible to see Agent Coulson outside of a suit.  He hadn’t really understood how much of his assessment of the unflappable senior agent was related to the fact that Coulson was always armoured in impeccable tailoring until Clint was confronted by the sight of him not wearing it.  Not that Clint went around critiquing Coulson’s sartorial choices, but the sight of Agent Coulson in something other than a jacket, tie and not-quite white shirt had Clint’s brain shuddering to a halt.  Even if all he was wearing was the same cold climate gear everybody else was.  It was more than a little disconcerting.  And wouldn’t Coulson be proud of Clint for using an eight-dollar word?

The sight _shouldn’t_ have been strange.  Being a SHIELD agent was a dangerous job and missions had a way of being hazardous to Clint’s ability to continue breathing, let alone his wardrobe choices.  It should have been a simple statistical probability that Clint would have caught Coulson in something other than a suit at some point during a mission or in the aftermath, but somehow Clint never had.  It was almost as if Coulson had been _born_ in a suit.  If you listened to the junior agents, which Clint tried not to do just in case stupidity was catching, Coulson was either an android or an alien.  Every time Clint heard one of those rumours, he shook his head, because seriously -- did the junior agents have no sense of creativity?  Sure, Coulson was always immaculate no matter the time of day or what was going on around him, but underneath it all, he was just as human as the rest of SHIELD.

Well, except for Fury, maybe.

“Sir, what are you doing here?” he asked rather stupidly.

“Over the last few days I’ve received a distressing amount of emails indicating an unnamed SHIELD asset was ignoring orders -- which was resulting in a large amount of property damage,” Coulson replied.  “So I decided to investigate before anyone filed a disciplinary report.”

His tone was completely deadpan, but even so, Clint had the distinct impression that Coulson was screwing with him.  Who knew the man in the impeccable suit had a sense of humour under all those ties?

“Huh,” Clint said, a smile curving across his face.  “Any idea who the unlucky guy is, Coulson?  Because I’d be happy to help you take care of him.”

Over his earpiece, Clint heard Coulson sigh.  “Barton, just stop shooting things that aren’t your target,” he said.

“But I’m bored, sir,” Clint said, knowing he was pushing it, but unwilling to stop because needling Coulson would never get old -- besides, didn’t his file say he had ‘issues with authority figures’?

The parka-clad figure moved the binoculars from his eyes and Clint was finally able to get a glimpse of Coulson’s face through the scope.  Most of it was hidden by his beanie and the collar of his parka, but from the way the corners of Coulson’s eyes were crinkling, Clint was guessing he was trying to hide a smile.  “Just stay where you are,” Coulson ordered.

Clint rolled his eyes.  “Where else am I going to go, sir?” he said.

He didn’t need to actually see it to know Coulson was sending a narrow-eyed glare in his direction.  He watched as the distant figure turned and walked back towards the command bunker and Clint figured that was a dismissal.  At least talking to Coulson had kept the boredom at bay for about ten minutes.

To say he was shocked when Coulson walked back out of the trees about five minutes later would have been an understatement -- particularly since Coulson was carrying what looked like a large thermos in one hand and immediately started walking towards Clint’s position.  Clint listened in silence as Coulson’s footsteps crunched all the way up to his nest, trying to work out exactly what was going on.

“Mind if I sit down?” Coulson’s voice asked a few minutes later.

Mutely, Clint shook his head and watched as Coulson laid out a little waterproof blanket and sat down in the corner of Clint’s half-igloo, carefully not obscuring any of Clint’s sight lines.  Clint frowned.  Last time he checked, senior agents did not keep pain-in-the-ass assets company in the freezing snow.  “Coffee?” Coulson offered a beat later as he unscrewed the top of the thermos.

Up close, Clint could see the traces of amusement in Coulson’s eyes, which just sent a wave of confusion rolling through him.  Not much else of Coulson was showing outside of the beanie and parka, but even when Clint turned away to look back through his scope, the warmth in Coulson’s gaze danced across his vision.  He tried to ignore the low, swooping feeling in his stomach, because there was no way all that warm teasing was directed at Clint.  “You’re voluntarily sharing your coffee with me, sir?” Clint said, covering his sudden uncertainty with a smirk.  “Did the world end while I was out here?”

“If you don’t want any, you could just say so,” Coulson replied in that familiar dry tone.

“Hey now, I didn’t say that,” Clint said, turning around to look at Coulson again.

The corners of Coulson’s eyes crinkled again, but Clint couldn’t see his mouth to tell if he really was smiling as much as it looked like he wanted too.  Wordlessly, Coulson passed over a cup of steaming coffee and Clint groaned out loud when his fingers curled around the heat of it.  Immediately, his fingers began to tingle and Clint curled the coffee cup towards his chest as best as he could, attempting to use it as a caffeinated hot water bottle.

“I leave you alone for a week and you go native,” Coulson said a minute or so later, hiding behind his own coffee cup.  Even so, Clint caught the crinkle of his eyes again and wondered if he’d just stumbled across the Rosetta stone of reading Coulson’s expressions.

The words prompted Clint’s fingers to shift to his jaw almost unconsciously and scratch his scruffy beard.  It was getting kind of long now, but it was cold up here and really, it wasn’t like the target he was waiting for was actually going to see him.  “It helps keeps my face from freezing off,” he replied.  “Unlike my _nuts_ ,” he added under his breath.

Coulson made no sign of hearing Clint’s last words, so Clint alternated between sipping his quickly cooling coffee and sighting through his scope.  The silence should have been just as boring as Clint lying up here alone, but somehow it wasn’t.  Clint wasn’t sure if it was the surprisingly companionable silence or the fact that Clint had both coffee and something interesting to watch out of the corner of his eye, but time seemed to pass a lot quicker after Coulson joined him.

In the end, Coulson called the op three days later.  Both the weapons dealer and his client were no shows, but that wasn’t Clint’s problem.  Normally, spending a week in the snow for no reason would have pissed Clint off, but somehow this time it didn’t.  That might have had something to do with the fact that Coulson had spent two of the three extra days sitting silently beside Clint while he held position, but whatever the reason, Clint found he didn’t actually mind that the mission was a bust.

**~*~  
**


	2. Chapter 2

Clint didn’t know why, but the sense of camaraderie and tenuous friendship that had grown out in the snow seemed to disappear as soon as they got back to New York.  Coulson retreated back into professionalism as soon as he climbed into the armour plating that was his dark suits and Clint was surprised by just how much he missed their bantering.  Instead of being Coulson’s sarcastic observations and dry teasing, the most Clint got now was a small nod in the corridor and a request for his overdue paperwork.  It wasn’t as if Clint had suddenly expected he and Coulson would become best buddies or anything, but he hadn’t thought they’d go back to impersonal distance, either.  He shouldn’t have been so surprised.  Clint knew there was only one reason SHIELD had recruited him in the first place and it had nothing to do with his conversational skills.  He was a sniper.  That was it.  Coulson voluntarily spending time with him was probably an aberration brought on by boredom or trying to avoid annoying junior agents or something.

After about three months of this, Clint had made the mistake of confessing his feelings to Jasper Sitwell, but Jasper had just snorted and given him a sardonic look over the top of his beer.  “It means he respects you,” Jasper had told him with the exaggerated solemnity of the almost-drunk.  “Coulson doesn’t just respect anyone, you know.  You have to _earn_ it.”

Clint was still skeptical about that, but Jasper had known Coulson for longer than Clint had.  Who knew?  Maybe it _was_ true.

Instead of sulking or doing something equally ridiculous at the lack of attention, Clint threw himself into training, which he was counting as a mark of maturity.  He spent longer hours on the range, honing his aim, and then the rest of his time either sparring with the junior agents in the gym or shadowing people around the SHIELD offices.  However, aside from overhearing several new insane theories the junior agents had about Coulson, Clint didn’t really achieve much -- not that Clint considered eavesdropping on the growing stupidity of junior agents to be an achievement.  For a bunch of black ops spies, they spent a remarkably small amount of time actually discussing anything that wasn’t gossip.  And it wasn’t even interesting gossip.

Jasper noticed Clint’s new habits -- because apparently they were weird and Jasper was concerned -- so when Jasper suggested they meet for coffee in one of the upper level break rooms, Clint had shrugged and agreed.  In hindsight, Clint probably should have suspected sneakiness, because that was the only explanation for what Clint had just stumbled across.

If seeing Agent Coulson in a fleece-trimmed parka was enough to shake his world view a little, then this was like the next level of _strange_ \-- if strange had the ability to make Clint’s mouth turn dry and his knees feel a little shaky.  Clint ducked around the corner before either Agent Hill or the startlingly underdressed Coulson could see him and sucked in a deep breath.  The sight _should not_ have affected Clint like this.  He was a sniper, damn it.  He was a calm, highly skilled _badass_ and no matter what anyone else said, he was both controlled and disciplined.  The image of Agent Coulson in a well-fitting, black, military combat gear should not have the power to shake Clint’s composure.  Hell, it was hardly the strangest sight Clint had ever seen in his life, considering he’d spent a great deal of it in a _circus_.

Of course, _strange_ hadn’t really been Clint’s first thought.   _Badass_ had come to mind, closely followed by _fucking hot_.

Peering around the corner again with all the stealth he had, Clint allowed his eyes to register the details he’d missed before.  The soft black material of Coulson’s t-shirt clung to him in a way that his tailored suits never managed to, emphasising broad shoulders and a surprisingly muscular chest.  A hint of a black ink poked out from under one of the short sleeves, and Clint felt his mouth turn drier than the Sahara at the realisation that the perfect Agent Coulson was hiding at least one tattoo.  Black cargo pants were belted at his lean waist and his gun was holstered on his thigh.  If Clint hadn’t known it was Coulson he was looking at, he would have assumed someone at SHIELD had called in outside military help.

It wasn’t just that Coulson looked completely different from usual -- which he did, because Clint was pretty sure he’d never seen Coulson show that much skin before.  Clint definitely _hadn’t_ ever been able to just stare the strong column of his throat or the smooth muscles of his arms and the damn tantalizing hint of tattoo.  It was subtler than that, because somehow Coulson’s body language and attitude had shifted too.  Where Agent Coulson stood still, his face a mask of silent attention, this guy _moved_.  He shifted his shoulders slightly, brushed a gloved hand over the grip of his gun as if reassuring himself it was still there and his eyes roamed the corridor and the people around him, as if constantly assessing threats.  Even Coulson’s _face_ was somehow different.  He was paying close attention to whatever information Hill was telling him, but while his face didn’t exactly show any more emotions that usual, it wasn’t completely deadpan either.  In military gear, Coulson was rougher, somehow even more dangerous and he’d lost that subtle invisibility that was one of Agent Coulson’s superpowers.  Like he’d sunk back into the soldier he used to be rather than the bland agent he’d become.

It was only then that Clint began to realise how much of Agent Coulson was actually _defined_ by his suit -- because the man Clint was watching wasn’t _Agent_ Coulson anymore.  Clint had no idea what rank he’d held or which branch of the military Coulson had actually served with, but for the first time, Clint could actually see it.  Logically, he’d always known Coulson had a military past -- SHIELD didn’t recruit just _anyone_ \-- but seeing it was different.  And hot.  Unbelievably hot.

Trying to shake off the sudden fantasy of Coulson roughly shoving him against a wall and kissing him senseless, Clint focused on what Coulson and Hill were saying.  “…briefing as soon as I’ve figured out if the disappearance of the planes have anything to do with a portal, strange or otherwise,” Coulson said and Hill just nodded as if that made sense.

“Aren’t _all_ portals strange, sir?” Clint asked, unable to help himself as he leant against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest.

Both Coulson and Hill turned to look at him and Clint was hit by a sharp stab of lust all over again.  “Don’t you have an appointment on the range, Specialist?” Coulson asked and while the tone _sounded_ exactly like Agent Coulson, he still looked like he’d come straight out of Clint’s fantasies.

“You ready, Cheese?”

The voice interrupted Clint’s flippant answer and he blinked at the curious nickname as he turned his gaze slightly to watch a lean, dark-skinned man walking down the corridor towards them.  Like Coulson, the man was dressed in black combat gear and from his calm, watchful bearing, Clint guessed he was some sort of ranking officer.  For a moment, intelligent brown eyes glanced over Clint, before the man turned back to Coulson.  “Transport should be here in ten,” he added, “and I thought we were supposed to be on a time limit?”

Coulson actually rolled his eyes.  “Don’t forget who’s doing who a favour, Rhodey,” he said.

Rhodey huffed.  “Yeah, like you’re ever going to let me forget it,” he grumbled, the words sounding like an old argument.

Honest amusement shone in Coulson’s face for a moment and as Clint watched in amazement, Coulson _smiled_.  With a stab of what Clint refused to acknowledge was jealousy, he realised that whoever Rhodey was, he knew a side of Coulson that SHIELD didn’t.

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything else,” Hill told Coulson with a nod.

The sense of easy familiarity between Coulson and Rhodey continued as Coulson nodded his thanks and followed Rhodey down the corridor.  As the two men walked their shoulders brushed and _holy shit_ Coulson had the edge of a dangerous swagger to his walk like this.  Clint swallowed down a wave of irrational resentment at the sight of Coulson and Rhodey walking so close.  It was stupid and illogical and Clint had no right to the surge of jealousy he felt, but he couldn’t stop it.  That friendly, familiar camaraderie was exactly what Clint hadn’t even known he’d wanted until Coulson had sat down next to him in the snow -- and seeing it now with someone else hit Clint right in the guts like a fist, because Clint finally knew that it wasn’t that Coulson wasn’t capable of that ease with someone.  It was just that Coulson refused to be that informal with _Clint_.

When was he going to learn that he was just a guy with above average aim and not worth anything else?  Certainly not any form of friendship from a highly skilled senior agent who most people considered perfect.  And if Clint was harbouring any illusions about ever being anything more than that to Coulson, well, he didn’t have them anymore.

“Barton?”

Jolted out of his thoughts at the sound of his name, Clint glanced up to find Coulson waiting for him expectantly.  “Walk with us for a minute,” Coulson said.

Nodding cautiously to Rhodey -- who instead of looking irritated like Clint had expected at the intrusion, only looked amused -- Clint fell into step beside them.  “Sir?” he asked.

“There’s a set of files in the middle of my desk.  I left them for you,” Coulson told him.  “I thought since you were doing most of the work anyway, you’d like to officially take over training some of the junior agents.”

Clint almost stumbled.  “Uh… what?”

Coulson’s lips quirked, his eyes crinkling like he wanted to smile.  “You’ve been spending a lot of time on the range and sparring with other agents lately,” he said.  “Whatever advice you’ve been giving out has been working, because most of the junior agents you’ve been training with have shown dramatic improvement.”

Shrugging, Clint shoved his hands in his pockets.  “Yeah, well, their range scores were shit,” he said.

“And yours weren’t once?” Rhodey asked dryly, still looking amused.

Clint scowled.  “Screw you,” he snapped.  “I never miss.”

Rhodey’s eyebrows rose and Clint winced, because Coulson wasn’t going to like Clint swearing at his friend.

“Hawkeye is the World’s Greatest Marksman,” Coulson said instead of reprimanding Clint, no trace of irony in his tone.  Clint turned to stare at him in amazement and Coulson sent him an exasperated smile and bumped Clint’s shoulder with his.  “I thought you should get the credit for your hard work,” he said.  “And I also thought it might keep you out of trouble for a few days until I get back.”

Clint gave up fighting the warm feeling that spread through his chest.  “Yeah, okay,” he said.  At Coulson’s raised eyebrow, he rolled his eyes.  “I mean, sir, yes, sir,” he said, snapping out a jaunty salute.

Rhodey laughed.  “I like him,” he said, just grinning wider at Coulson’s irritated glare.  “Someone has to stop you from getting boring, Cheese.”

Before Clint could ask what was up with the nickname, Coulson sighed.  “You, can it,” he said, levelling his finger at Rhodey.  Then he turned to Clint.  “And you, files.  You’ve got homework to do.  I’ll see you in three days.”

Clint grinned, hands still in his pockets, as he unabashedly watched Coulson stalk off down the corridor.  Rhodey rolled his eyes and gave Clint a brief wave before he followed after Coulson.  When both men were out of sight, Clint turned and started making his way over to Coulson’s office.  The next few days were suddenly looking far less bleak, because Jasper had been right -- Coulson did see him as more than just a sniper.

He’d just have to do his best not to let that opinion ever change, starting with making sure those junior agents were the best in their entire training group.

**~*~  
**


	3. Chapter 3

Life fell into kind of a pattern after that.  Clint still went out on missions -- sometimes with Coulson in charge and sometimes not -- but now he also had things to do _between_ missions that wasn’t just hitting the range until his fingers bled.  It was nice.  For the first time in a long while, Clint felt settled.  Not that he let his behaviour change _completely_.  He still did his best to irritate anyone sent out on a mission with him and teased and flirted with Coulson over the comms, because he was Hawkeye and that’s what he did, but he stopped trying so hard to get a rise out of Coulson.  What Clint _couldn’t_ stop, however, was the shiver of lust that would hit him sometimes or the way Coulson’s face would occasionally drift through his mind late at night or when he was jerking off in the shower.  It was stupid, Clint _knew_ that, but he’d always had a problem of hoping for the impossible and his feelings for Coulson were definitely that.  Deep down in a corner of Clint’s heart that he couldn’t squash, he clung to the hope that maybe one day Coulson could look at Clint as something other than an asset and fellow agent.  If he tried hard enough, maybe the universe would let him have what he wanted this time -- maybe whatever respect and friendship he and Coulson had could grow into something more.

Of course, that had been the moment Clint’s life went to hell.

Clint’s life hadn’t been easy and he’d done things he wasn’t proud of, but he’d finally been starting to prove he was more than just a pain-in-the-ass -- and in one painful, clear instant, Clint had felt all of that come crashing down around his ears.  Natasha Romanoff hit SHIELD’s radar in a bad way and Clint knew he couldn’t just sit by and watch SHIELD arrest her -- or _worse_.  Natasha was a single bright point in a dark place in Clint’s life -- before SHIELD had found him and a tall man in a black leather coat had given Clint a chance to change his life -- and Clint couldn’t turn his back on her.  He _wouldn’t_.

When Clint had gone to Coulson to explain what he wanted to do, there had been no emotion in Coulson’s face -- not anger or reprimand or disapproval.  Coulson had simply said, “Understood, Barton.”  Clint had wanted to ask if that meant that Coulson trusted his call, or if he was just going to send some other team of agents out to arrest both him and Natasha, but Clint hadn’t been sure he really wanted to know the answer.  Instead, he’d saulted jauntily with a smirk fixed on his face and hightailed it out of headquarters.  The next time Clint had come face to face with Coulson, in yet another SHIELD corridor with Coulson armoured in yet another one of his immaculate suits, Coulson had simply given Clint a small nod and asked him to file his mission report.

Even now, almost a year after the fact and with Natasha settled in as a SHIELD asset and already making a name for herself, Clint had no freakin’ idea what that _meant_.  If he was truthful with himself, he’d been expected to be held up on disciplinary charges the second he’d set foot back on SHIELD premises, but he hadn’t.  No one had punished him for going after Natasha and even more surprisingly, no one had snatched Natasha up and taken her away.  Instead, Coulson had debriefed them with his usual deadpan expression and life had gone on.  Clint still went out on missions -- only now Natasha was usually right beside him -- and he still trained junior agents, but there was something humming just under the surface that made it hard for Clint to relax back into life at SHIELD.  

Sighing, Clint glared down at the intelligence reports in front of him -- because that was another thing that had subtly changed at SHIELD.  Apparently, running off and saving the Black Widow from a conspiracy masterminded ex-KGB agents meant that Fury now trusted him to spot patterns in the intelligence briefings that the analysts didn’t.  The shit he did because Nick Fury asked him to, seriously.  Fury had admitted more than once that he found Clint’s insight invaluable, so when he asked, Clint helped.  It also helped keep Clint even busier between missions which was probably what Fury had intended in the first place.  Fury was a devious bastard.  It was one of the things Clint liked about him best.  

“You’re thinking very hard,” Natasha said, sliding into the seat opposite Clint.

Clint didn’t startle at her silent appearance because he was used to it.  No one could sneak the way Natasha could.  Not even Coulson.

Natasha was dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, as if she was heading out or planning to and offered Clint a smile when he looked over at her.  “That’s not usually a sentence people say around me,” Clint joked with a shrug.

Natasha arched an elegant eyebrow.  “You forget,” she said.  “I know how smart you are.”  Then she nodded towards the tablet computer in Clint’s hands.  “I would have thought you would have been finishing that at your desk,” she added.

Clint scowled, thinking back to the little cubicle and desk he’d been assigned, in the middle of a group of junior agents.  It was hardly the most comfortable place to do paperwork, let alone anything more complicated.  What Clint really wanted to do was join Coulson in his office and take up the soft couch Coulson kept in the corner, but he still wasn’t entirely sure of his welcome after the whole Natasha thing.  It was one thing to be friendly and professional on missions and something else completely when Clint invaded his space.  “Carter and Woo are arguing about the best way to take out a giant slime monster again,” he muttered.

With a delicate snort, Natasha gave him a pointed look.  “Is that why you’re brooding?” she asked.

“I am not brooding,” Clint immediately defended.

Natasha raised a skeptical eyebrow and stared back silently.  Clint rolled his eyes.  Before he could open his mouth to defend himself any further, however, Jasper Sitwell strode determinedly into the small break room Clint had _not_ been hiding out in.  “Ah, there you two are,” he said.

Clint eyed the other agent curiously as Jasper walked over to them.  Jasper had been one of the first people to welcome and accept Natasha to SHIELD and perhaps unsurprisingly, Jasper had seamlessly slid into their little friendship circle, Jasper’s sarcastic sense of humour fitting in well with Natasha’s dry expressions and Clint’s smartass commentary.  Finally reaching their table, Jasper looked between Clint and Natasha for a moment.  “Seriously?” he said.  “This is what two of the world’s best ninja assassins are doing on a Friday night?”

“It’s four in the afternoon,” Clint replied flatly.

Jasper rolled his eyes.  “My point still stands, Hawk,” he said.  “And if you’re _that_ grumpy, then you definitely need to get out of headquarters for a while.”

“That’s what I was going to suggest,” Natasha said, smiling at Jasper in greeting.  “I know just the place.”

For a moment, Clint eyed them both, but he knew how stubborn they could be.  “Let me grab my jacket and put this away,” he said with a shrug, giving in.

Without actually explaining where they were going, Natasha led them to a small coffee shop only a few blocks from SHIELD’s New York headquarters.  The inside was warm and cosy, with just the right balance of comfortable looking chairs in corners and small tables and a large chalkboard full of drink options.  Even as Clint automatically scanned the few people sheltering inside on a cold Friday afternoon, he decided that Phil would probably love it.

“Nice place,” he told Natasha.

Natasha shrugged.  “They make tea the way I like it,” she said.  “Also, the junior agents don’t know about it.”

Clint huffed out a laugh.  “Yeah, that’s always a plus,” he agreed.

Both Jasper and Natasha knew that Clint’s patience for junior agents had been very short recently, even if they didn’t know the exact reasons why.  It was true that Clint was jumping out of ceiling spaces and storage closets a lot more lately and in general his skulking around the offices had gotten worse, but he couldn’t seem to help it.  The latest crop of junior agents seemed to be even more brain dead than the last lot and Clint’s constant scaring of them was for the greater good, really -- because anyone who seriously believed Agent May when she said Fury had Coulson built to be his right hand android did not have a bright future at SHIELD.

After they’d collected their drinks, Natasha led the way over to three comfy chairs nestled in one of the corners.  Clint curled up gratefully in one of them, hugging his coffee to his chest like he’d done to a different cup amongst the snow of Alaska.  He really needed to stop moping about the place over Coulson, except every time he tried, his traitorous feelings would give a little flutter or Coulson would do something ridiculously kind and Clint would find himself falling all over again.

Jasper’s loud groan of pleasure jolted Clint from his thoughts and he blinked a little as Jasper sucked down half his giant coffee like a starving man, uncaring as always that it was probably still hot.  Beside him, Natasha rolled her eyes as she did something complicated with a small blue teapot.  Her fingers were deft and sure and for a moment, Clint found himself mesmerised by the sight, before he turned his attention to the other people sitting and reading around him.  Sipping his own coffee, Clint cocked his head.  “Huh,” he said.  “The guy on your left is about to get his ass kicked.”

Natasha arched an eyebrow as Jasper finally raised his face from his coffee cup, both turning to the man and woman sitting to their left, just as a look of outrage crossed the woman’s face.  Grabbing her purse, the woman kicked out at the man’s chair, sending him crashing to the ground, before she stalked out.  Clint hid a chuckle by taking a sip of his coffee.  Natasha just snorted unsympathetically.  “I think he probably deserved that,” Jasper said.

“He did,” Natasha agreed, before countering.  “The brunette at the table to the right is trying to hide the diamond engagement ring on her finger from her friend.”

Clint relaxed with a smile as he saw what Natasha had already spotted.  The game between them -- which had now extended to Jasper and sometimes Coulson on missions -- had a familiar rhythm as they tried to work out the stories of all the people around them.  Sometimes it was comforting to realise there were still normal people in the world who had normal people issues that didn’t involve strange objects or mystical occurrences.

Scanning over the few remaining customers, Clint’s eyes drifted to the unobtrusive man sitting in a large red recliner near on the other side of the windows to where they sat and found he couldn’t quite turn his gaze away.  The tactical part of Clint’s brain recognised that the guy had chosen his seat well, because he had clear sight lines to the coffee shop’s main exits and it would be hard for anyone to walk up to him without him seeing them first.  The rest of Clint’s brain however was… drooling.

Clint couldn’t see the guy’s face, but what he could see he _liked_.  Worn jeans covered his long legs, faded just enough to be comfortable rather than as some sort of fashion statement.  His boots were scuffed and there was a woven bracelet of the same deep brown leather on his right wrist.  Broad shoulders were emphasised by the black Henley he wore, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows to reveal strong forearms.  His long, capable fingers were curled around a dog-eared book that was blocking Clint from seeing his face and there was steaming cup of coffee sitting on the small table beside him.

Jasper’s elbow to Clint’s ribs wasn’t very subtle and Clint grunted in pain.  That was probably going to bruise.  “Ow,” he said sulkily, rubbing his side.  “What was that for?”

“I asked you a question,” Jasper replied -- but didn’t actually repeat what he’d said.

Clint turned to Natasha, but she just quirked her eyebrow at him and gave him a _look_.  He and Natasha were closer than family and after all the shared secrets between them, sometimes all Natasha had to do was quirk an eyebrow and Clint knew exactly what she was thinking.  In a rare moment of pathos, Clint reflected that it would probably have made his life a lot easier if he could just have fallen in love with Natasha.  Instead, as beautiful and deadly and sharp as Natasha was, Clint still preferred the thought of impeccable suits and dry teasing, even if the highlight of his daily interaction with Coulson was handing him a completed mission report.

“So what’s up with you and Coulson?” Natasha’s question interrupted the thoughts Clint had fallen into -- again -- and Clint frowned at her.  Natasha stared back.

“Huh?” he said, trying to give himself time to think.  How much did she guess?  “What makes you think there’s something up with me and Coulson?”

Natasha gave him a distinctly unimpressed look.  “Barton,” Jasper said.  “Almost everyone with eyes knows there’s something up between you and Coulson.”

Clint huffed.  “They do not,” he said, “because there’s nothing going on.”

“But you _want_ something to be going on,” Natasha said, her eyes narrowed.

Clint scowled, because it was during moments like this that he hated that his best friend was a spy.  “Tash…” he began.

Natasha shrugged.  “You should sleep with him,” she said as bluntly as if she was making a comment about the weather.

Trying manfully not to choke on his coffee, Clint glared at her.  Beside them, Jasper’s eyes went wide and the grin that spread across his face was truly terrifying.  “Wait a minute,” Jasper said.  “Clint want to sleep with Coulson?”

“What?  No!” Clint spluttered, half-expecting Natasha to see through it in about a second.

Natasha took a delicate sip of her tea.  “He totally does,” she said and Clint braced himself for the combined embarrassment of Jasper and Natasha’s teasing.  Then Natasha tilted her head to the side slightly and blinked.  “No, I take that back.  He wants to do more than sleep with Coulson,” she said.  “Clint…”

With a sigh, Clint slumped down into his chair.  “I know, I know,” he grumbled, bitterness entering his voice before he could stop it.  “Feelings make everything messy.  I just…”

“You’ve got it pretty bad, don’t you Hawk?” Jasper said softly.

“Yeah,” Clint said, looking down at the cup in his hands.  “And I get it that Coulson will never feel the same way back.” He hunched his shoulders.  “I’m just a mouthy asset who shoots stuff,” he added morosely.

Jasper punched him in the shoulder.  His entire face was scowling when Clint glanced over.  “You are so much more than that!” he growled.  “And Coulson would be one of the first people to say so.”

Natasha’s eyes were soft as she gazed at him over the top of her tea cup.  “Jasper’s right,” she agreed quietly.  “And you don’t just ‘shoot stuff’, Clint.  You have the best aim I have ever seen.”

Clint blinked, knowing her well enough to know that her compliment was both genuine and rarely given.  The smile he gave her in return lacked all the cockiness he usually showed the world.  “I am the World’s Greatest Marksman,” he joked, but judging from Natasha and Jasper’s expressions, it fell flat.  “But I also know my worth in other people’s eyes, Tash.  Most people don’t find me worth it.”

“Most people are stupid,” Natasha said fiercely, before her tone softened again.  “But I do not think Agent Coulson is one of them.”

“He definitely isn’t,” Jasper said firmly.  “Don’t give up on him, Hawk.”

Clint shrugged again, feeling the usual discomfort that made him itch when conversations got too personal.  In an effort to distract himself, he tried to take another sip of coffee, only to find his cup was down to the dregs and when had that happened?

Starting to get to his feet, he was about to make an excuse about getting another cup when he noticed one of the apron-clad baristas was walking in his direction with a large mug of coffee.  Clint stayed half in and half out of his chair as the barista walked up with a smile and put the coffee mug down on the table in front of him.  Instinct kicked in and Clint scanned the coffee shop for threats, before he turned back to the barista.  His name tag said ‘Tom’.

“I didn’t order that,” Clint said, noticing Natasha had also tensed up, even though she kept sipping her tea as if nothing was wrong.

Tom smiled cheerfully.  “No, Phil did,” he replied.  “He said it’s just the way you like it.”

At Clint’s confused look, Tom rolled his eyes and jerked his head towards someone behind Clint, before giving a small wave and heading back towards the counter.  Almost not wanting to, Clint turned around to see who it was who had just bought him a coffee and found himself staring at the guy he’d been ogling earlier.  Except, now that the book wasn’t in front of the guy’s face, Clint could see _exactly_ who it was.

_Holy shit._

Staring back at him with an amused half smile on his face and wearing a pair of black, thick-framed glasses was Agent Coulson himself.  Clint had a strange thought about seeing Coulson in his natural habitat, before the barista’s words sank into the parts of his brain that hadn’t melted outright at the sight of those glasses.  Phil.  The barista had called him _Phil_.  Also, apparently _Phil_ knew how Clint took his coffee, which Clint felt was an important detail -- he just couldn’t quite wrap his brain around it yet.

As he stared in mute shock, Coulson -- or did this mean Clint was allowed to call him Phil now? -- raised his own coffee mug in toast, before returning his attention to his old, tattered book again.  Clint sank bonelessly back into his chair and turned his confused gaze to his new coffee cup, before raising them to Natasha’s amused face.  Beside her, Jasper rolled his eyes.  “See?” he said.  “Natasha told you Coulson wasn’t stupid.”

“Did that just happen?” Clint asked, still feeling more than a little dazed.  “Did that really just happen?”

Natasha arched one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows.  “It’s just coffee.”

Clint narrowed his eyes.  “It’s not just coffee and you know it,” he accused.  Then he blinked.  “Or is it?”

“Why don’t you go and ask him?” Natasha suggested, looking amused again.

“Are you nuts?” Clint asked her, his eyes wide.  “He’s in… like real people clothes.  He’ll probably taze me before I get three steps for even daring to disturb him or something.”

Jasper snorted with laughter.  “Oh, believe me Hawkeye when I say that Coulson will definitely _not_ tazer you in the nuts.”

Clint eyed him skeptically.  “He once threatened a junior agent with reassignment to Greenland because she tried to talk to him in the SHIELD parking garage,” he said.

“Maria keeps embellishing that story,” Jasper muttered.  “And no, actually he didn’t.  He once threatened a junior agent with the possibility of reassignment because she tried to give him her four overdue mission reports when he was trying to go home after a 50 hour stint in mission control.  He was a little grumpy, that’s all.”

Clint blinked.  “Uh… okay?” he said.  “I’m still not going over there.”

Natasha sighed.  “Clint, I will drag you over there kicking and screaming if I have to.  Are you, or are you not, supposed to be an actual adult?”

“Don’t think he wouldn’t taze you too,” Clint said sulkily and reached for his coffee.  The barista had been right.  It was just the way he like it.

The look Natasha gave him told him that she clearly thought Clint was behaving like a child.  Clint wasn’t sure she was wrong, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it either.  There was just something about Coulson that always kept him on edge and it wasn’t only because he never knew what the other man was thinking.  Except, was it really _Coulson_ who had bought Clint a cup of coffee and remembered just the way he liked it?

Or was it _Phil_?

Because Clint was beginning to see there was a big difference between the two sides of the same confusing man.   _Coulson_ wore dark suits and a deadpan expression and made sure everyone filled out the correct amount of post-mission paperwork.  But Phil -- Phil was the kind of guy who wore clothes for comfort and read his favourite book so many times it was all worn.   _Phil_ was the one who remembered how Clint liked his coffee.

Clint wanted to get to know _Phil_ a whole lot better.

Natasha smiled as if she knew everything that had just run through Clint’s brain and he smiled back because he was pretty sure she did.  “Tash…” he began, only to be interrupted by his suddenly ringing phone.  He didn’t need to see Natasha’s face or hear Jasper’s curse or even turn his head to look at Phil to know their phones had started ringing too.  And wasn’t it just like some sort of terrorist to blow something up just as Clint had screwed up enough courage to maybe ask Phil Coulson out on a date?

Clint sighed and drained his coffee because it _really was_ just the way he liked it, before he gave Natasha a wry smile.  She shrugged lightly in return and moved to follow Jasper to the door.  Phil was already ten steps ahead, barking into his phone and for a moment, Clint watched his face harden into the mask Agent Coulson wore every day with a twinge of sadness.

“Come on,” Natasha said to him.  “Duty calls.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint grumbled.  “Just don’t complain if I start aiming for kneecaps this time.”

**~*~  
**


	4. Chapter 4

Of course, once Clint had finally decided to do something about his feelings, the universe turned against him.  The phone calls had lead to a mission -- without Coulson -- and by the time Clint and Natasha got back from Thailand, exhausted and muddy, Clint felt like his moment of courage had passed.  With a frustrated glare, Natasha had dragged Clint over to Coulson’s office anyway, only to discover Coulson wasn’t there, which just proved to Clint how much of a bad idea this was.  Clint had always known that his feelings would never get a happy ending.  In his life, the people who had seen his flaws and then _stayed_ were in the minority.  Clint had Coulson’s friendship and respect and he could be content with that.  Clint _knew_ that Phil wouldn’t suddenly walk away from their friendship if Clint ever confessed his feelings, but no matter how gentle Coulson was about it, it would still _hurt_ when Coulson told Clint that his feelings weren’t reciprocated.  Clint had had enough heartbreak from a lifetime, thanks.

Clint just wished he could get Coulson out of his head -- but Clint missed him and somehow Coulson not being there was just making Clint’s swirling feelings _worse_.

For the last two weeks, Coulson had been infiltrating a tight-knit mercenary group who only recruited ex-military members.  Normally, either Clint or Natasha was the one undercover -- not that Clint doubted Coulson’s skills, because the man was the personification of competence -- but this time it was making Clint kind of itchy to be reduced to the backup.  Unfortunately, Clint wasn’t the one with the Ranger tattoo, so Coulson had been sent in.  Clint didn’t know all of the details, only that it was something to do with General Ross and a member of the World Security Council, but Fury was pissed about the whole thing.  SHIELD had intercepted word that the mercenaries Coulson was infiltrating had been contracted to kidnap Dr Bruce Banner and inject him with some sort of nanotechnology.  Personally, Clint thought it was a pretty stupid idea to try anything with a guy who could turn into a giant green monster capable of pretty much flattening Harlem, but as usual, no one had asked him.  As soon as Coulson had made contact with SHIELD, Clint, Natasha, Jasper and surprisingly Rhodey -- whose full name turned out to be Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes of the USAF -- had shoved on a plane to Melbourne, Australia.  Both SHIELD and the mercenaries had tracked Dr Banner to the city and Fury wanted SHIELD to be the one to get to him first.  The plan was to have Rhodey meet with Banner in an attempt not to spook the scientist into running again and warn him about the kidnapping attempt, while Phil met with the mercenaries to make sure he got his hands on the stolen nanotechnology first.

As a result, Natasha, Jasper and Rhodey were sitting in a cafe a few blocks away, waiting for Banner, while Clint had set himself up in the shadows of some construction scaffolding to watch over Coulson.  Below Clint’s perch, Coulson was waiting in one of Melbourne’s numerous cobblestone alleyways for his contact in the mercenary group to show up -- and if Clint hadn’t known it was Coulson, he probably would have had trouble recognising the other agent.  Coulson’s lean legs were covered in black jeans that were a lot tighter than the ones he was wearing at the coffee shop back in New York and a battered leather jacket stretched across his shoulders over a white t-shirt.  Coulson was also leaning back against the building on one side of the alley, one of his booted feet resting against the wall and a cigarette in one hand.  The stance made the denim pull taut in certain places and Clint had to force himself not to stare.

Yet, just like when Clint had spotted Coulson in his combat gear, it was more than just the clothes -- although the clothes had been _more_ than enough to send Clint’s thought processes screeching to a halt when Coulson had stepped out of their shared hotel room bathroom.  Coulson had shifted his whole demeanor in a way Clint couldn’t quite put his finger on.  Coulson was rough around the edges, his gaze alert like the soldier he’d been, but there was more to it than that.  If Clint had to describe Coulson in one word right now, it would have been _trouble_ \-- the kind of trouble Clint wouldn’t mind indulging in for a night or two, or maybe just the rest of his natural life.

As Clint watched, Coulson took another lazy drag on his cigarette.  Clint didn’t want to admit it, but seeing Coulson pull the battered pack out of his jacket had shocked the hell out of him.  “You know, sir,” Clint said.  “I never would have picked you for a smoker.  Is that something they taught you in the Rangers?”

“Not exactly,” Coulson replied and Clint could hear the amusement in his voice.

Jasper snorted over the comms.  “I still think you’re making this up, Hawkeye,” he said.  “Coulson is _not_ smoking.”

Clint opened his mouth to say something appropriately snarky, except he got distracted by the way Coulson blew out a long plume of smoke.  Jesus, had Coulson’s fingers always been that long and graceful?

“I think it’s amusing that you think you know all my secrets, Jasper,” Coulson drawled.

“Is there anything to actually report?” Natasha asked, breaking in before Jasper could reply.

“Nothing unusual,” Coulson reported.  “Target hasn’t shown yet.”

“The cameras are all clear too,” Jasper added.  “And for once, the coffee doesn’t actually taste like shit.”

Clint had to blink when Coulson rolled his eyes at Jasper’s words.  Dressed like he was, Coulson was bringing every bad boy fantasy Clint had ever had to life and the expressions flickering across Coulson’s normally deadpan face were _killing_ Clint.  He wanted to swing down from his perch, crowd Coulson up against the wall and find out if that leather jacket was as soft as it looked.  “Hey, Coulson,” he said, finally finding his voice again.  “If you didn’t start smoking in the Rangers, where _did_ you pick up the habit?”

Coulson smiled, the expression nothing more than a flash across his face, but it was enough to have Clint shifting uncomfortably.  Then Clint caught movement at the end of the alley around the corner from where Coulson was waiting and cursed under his breath at the appearance of Coulson’s contact.  “Target on approach,” he said, immediately serious.  “Coming in from your left.”

Down in the alley, Coulson tensed, but otherwise didn’t move.  “Copy that,” he replied softly.

Clint felt himself tensing too and let out a deep breath as he forced his shoulders to relax again.  Coulson knew what he was going and it was hardly the first time he’d met with the mercenaries.  Everything would be fine.

“Banner just entered the cafe,” Jasper said a moment later.  “Rhodes is moving to speak with him now.”

Ignoring the click that was Rhodey switching to a separate channel for his conversation, Clint kept his eyes firmly fixed on Coulson.  The mercenary Coulson was meeting was tall, dark-haired and dressed in jeans that had clearly seen better days.  He kept his distance from Coulson and when Clint scanned him for weapons, Clint spotted the phone the mercenary was keeping obscured from Coulson.  Grimacing, Clint suddenly felt a bad feeling cramp his stomach.  This was not going to end well.

“Mr Cole,” the mercenary greeted Coulson.

“Simpson,” Coulson returned levelly.

“I trust you didn’t have any difficulties with your flight?” Simpson said.

“Coulson,” Clint said before Coulson could reply.  “He’s got a phone in his left hand.  I think he’s stalling for time.”

“Are you finally going to give me details on this job you want my help with, or are you going to jerk me around some more?” Coulson growled, crushing the remains of his cigarette under his boot as he pushed off the wall, just before Clint saw him go for one of his hidden knives.

Clint cursed as he saw two more mercenaries entering the alley.  “Coulson, you have company!”

“Oh, I’m not sure sharing details with you would be such a good idea… Agent,” Simpson said with a smirk.  “Particularly since you work for SHIELD and we wouldn’t want you to warn Dr Banner like you’re planning to.”

For a second, Clint felt his heart stutter at Simpson knowing Coulson worked for SHIELD.  “Jasper, the mercenaries just made Coulson,” he hissed, knowing Jasper would warn Rhodey.  “They know Banner is meeting you.  You need to get out of there now!”

A beat later, Clint heard a click as the others moved back to Clint’s comm channel and Natasha let out a few curses of her own.  “I see them,” she said.  “We have five mercenaries converging on Banner’s location.”

Down below in the alley, the three mercenaries were moving in on Coulson.  “Permission to take them out, sir?” Clint asked, drawing back the string of his bow.

“Granted,” Coulson said tersely.

Five seconds later, all three mercenaries were on the ground.  “Barton, go help Widow and Rhodes,” Coulson ordered.  “I’ll call in clean up.”

“Yes, sir,” Clint replied, already packing up his gear.

Slinging his bow case and quiver onto his back, Clint ran for the edge of the construction scaffolding he’d been hiding in and jumped across to the next roof.  As soon as his boots hit, Clint rolled and pushed back onto his feet, heading towards the stairs that lead to street level.  The buildings in this part of Melbourne’s CBD weren’t close enough together for Clint to stay up high and they lacked the fire escapes he was used to in New York.

“Banner and Rhodes have just exited out the back of the cafe,” Jasper reported.  “Four mercenaries remain in pursuit.”

“I’m right behind them,” Natasha added quietly.  “They’re good.  It’s not going to be easy to get away.”

“I may be able to help with that,” Clint said as an idea came to him.  “Rhodes, can you and Dr Banner meet me in the alley a block over from the State Library?”

“Yeah,” Rhodes replied.  “We can do that.”

“I’ll keep them off your back for as long as I can,” Natasha said.

As fast as he could, Clint headed towards where he’d told Rhodes and Banner to meet him.   Tugging out his sunglasses, he slipped them on, hiding the way his eyes were constantly moving over the people around him and rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the sensation that someone was watching him.  He made damn sure he didn’t have a tail before he reached the meeting point and scanned the crowd a few more times than necessary, before walking into the alleyway.  His hands automatically twitched for his bow when he caught movement, but it was only Rhodey and Banner.  The two men slowly stepped out from behind a large dumpster and Clint felt his eyebrows rise a little at Banner’s appearance.  The scientist’s clothes were scruffy and worn and he had several days worth of stubble covering his jaw.  He looked exhausted and Clint immediately felt a jolt of sympathy.  Clint remembered what it was like to live on the run.  He also had to bite back a snort at the way Rhodey moved to stand protectively in front of Banner.  Clint would bet ten bucks there was something going on there.

“So what’s your idea?” Rhodey asked, his eyes moving to watch the mouth of the alley behind Clint.

Jerking his chin at Banner, Clint began stripping off his dark jacket.  “I need Dr Banner to give me his hoodie and jacket,” he said.  “With any luck, if we hurry, the mercenaries will think I’m Banner and I can lead them away from you.”

“I… you’d do that?” Banner asked softly, his dark eyes widening slightly behind his glasses.

Clint shrugged a little awkwardly.  He knew that expression on Banner’s face, because he’d seen it enough on his -- disbelief that someone was actually helping you instead of selling you out.  “Believe it or not, Doc, SHIELD has always wanted to help you,” he said.

Still looking a little wary, Banner nevertheless pulled off his hoodie and jacket and passed them over to Clint, taking the jacket Clint held out in exchange.  “Thanks,” Banner said quietly.

With another shrug, Clint flashed him a smile, before pulling on Banner’s clothes as fast as he could.  He knew he needed to move before the mercenaries began to suspect something and Natasha could only buy them so much time.  “You’d better head to the extraction point,” he told Rhodey.

“Extraction?” Banner said immediately.  “I’m not going back to SHIELD.”

“It’s okay, Bruce,” Rhodey said and Clint shot them both a look at the obvious familiarity.

“Hawkeye, you need to move,” Natasha interrupted.  “Two mercenaries are converging on your position.”

“Copy that,” Clint said, before turning his attention back to where Rhodey and Banner were still having a quiet, but passionate conversation.  “You two need to get out of here now!”

Not waiting for Rhodey and Banner to do more than agree, Clint dragged up his hood to hide his face and slipped back out of the alley.  Merging in with the still busy crowd hurrying down Swanston Street, Clint hunching his shoulders and tried to look as much like a fugitive scientist as he could.

“Hawkeye, I have you in sight,” Natasha said in his ear.  “There’s a mercenary behind you at your nine o’clock position.  He’s about ten feet out and closing fast.  Get out of here.”

“Copy that, Widow,” Clint replied quietly, picking up his pace as he noticed the rough-looking mercenary behind him and dodged around several commuters.

“Do you need assistance?” she asked.

“Nah,” Clint said, scanning the fast moving crowd again and catching sight of another burly man waiting on the corner on the opposite side of the street, also searching the crowd.  Clint felt his pulse speed up when the second mercenary spotted him.  “I got this.  Go help Rhodes.”

“I’m en route to Hawkeye’s position,” Coulson’s voice said, joining the conversation.  “They haven’t made you yet, Widow.  I’ll take care of it.”

Clint could just image Natasha’s raised eyebrow and smirk at that.  “Meet you at the rendezvous then,” she said.

Resisting the urge to look around for Coulson, Clint just tried to keep the mercenaries in sight as he slipped gracefully through the evening commuters.  A second later, Clint felt someone come up behind him and touch his elbow.  “Easy, Hawkeye,” Coulson breathed in his ear just as Clint tensed, ready to lash out.  “This way.”

Surprised at the speed at which Coulson had caught up with him, Clint didn’t resist as Coulson tugged him to the right, heading inside what appeared to be a mall and catching sight of the blue sign indicating a train station.  “You know where you’re going?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Coulson actually rolled his eyes as he dodged around several slow moving people and made a path straight for a set of escalators.  “I do,” Coulson said, his hand still on Clint’s elbow as they wove their way down the escalator.  “I’ve been to Melbourne before.  It’s a great city.”

“Are we going to try and lose them on the trains?” Clint asked, noticing they were heading towards the station barriers.

“Not exactly,” Coulson said, his mouth twisting into a faint smirk.

Clint had to grin when he worked out where Coulson was leading them.  Dodging around a corner, they hurried down a narrow corridor, before it opened out into a wider section with another set of escalators.  “Ooh,” Clint said.  “Sneaky.”

“Thank you,” Coulson said with a hint of that faint smirk again.

They exited back out onto the street with little trouble and when Clint scanned the crowd, he didn’t see any sign of the mercenaries that had been tailing them.  All the same, he didn’t resist when Coulson pulled him down another nearby alley.  A few more turns later, they exited out onto second street and Clint felt himself relax a little as they merged in with the flow of people.  “I think we’ve lost them for a minute,” Coulson said, “but we need to make sure it stays that way.”

Clint arched an eyebrow at him and grinned when Coulson frowned faintly back.  “I assume you have a plan for that?” Clint asked.

“Yes,” Coulson told him.  “I do.”

Blinking, Clint watched as Coulson pulled a knife out from underneath his jacket and headed straight for a nearby parked Audi.  As Clint watched, his eyes widening, Coulson did something with the knife and with a smooth twist of his wrist had the door open in about fifteen seconds.  Wincing at the alarm went off, Clint tensed, ready to run if he saw anyone heading towards him through the crowd, but he didn’t have to.  Coulson somehow had the car alarm turned off and the engine purring in about thirty seconds.  “Okay,” Clint said, climbing into the passenger seat as Coulson actually grinned.  “This is definitely not the first time you’ve done that.”

Smoothly pulling out into the traffic, Coulson shot Clint a look.  “No,” he conceded.  “It isn’t.”

“This is like the smoking thing, isn’t it?” Clint said, carefully resting his bow case in his lap.  Clint had stolen a few cars in his life and the way Coulson had just done it was smooth and practiced -- and not the way they taught agents to steal cars in SHIELD training.  It was also one of the hottest things Clint had _ever seen_.  Holy shit, Coulson was a badass.

Coulson shot him another look and let out a breath.  “Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t exactly… the most well-behaved teenager,” he said, before he grinned in a way that would probably give most of the junior agents a heart attack.  “You could say that I got myself into a little trouble.”

Clint wanted to reach over the console and kiss that fucking expression right off his face.  “Shit, sir, are you telling me that you were a rebel who smoked and _stole cars_?” he said, not sure he completely believed it -- but only because he wanted _so badly_ for it to be true.

“Disappointed?” Coulson asked.

“ _Hell no_ ,” Clint answered fervently before he could stop himself.  “Disappointed is definitely not the word I’d use.”

Coulson blinked.  “Clint?” he said carefully, glancing over at Clint with an undecipherable expression in his eyes.

Clint sucked in a deep breath and attempted to get his scrambled thoughts in order.  He had a chance right then to finally tell Coulson how he felt and for once Clint didn’t feel gut-twisting dread at the idea.  It felt _right_.  Even though they were still on a mission, Clint was going to grab the moment with both hands and take the chance.  Shifting in his seat, Clint turned to look at Coulson and reached up to flick off his comm, because this was something he didn’t want broadcasted to an audience, whichever way it went.  “Clint?” Coulson said again, looking even more concerned.

“If you wanted me to describe how I feel about you stealing cars, Coulson, the words I would use would be fucking hot,” Clint said, ignoring the carnival of butterflies that had just started up in his stomach.  “I pretty much think that about most things you do.”

“I… you do?” Coulson said.

It was rare for Clint to see Coulson at a loss for words, but he couldn’t really enjoy it this time, not with the way his heart was doing somersaults in his chest and his palms were all sweaty.  “I do,” he replied.  “I’ve thought that for a while now, but it’s not just that you're gorgeous and so fucking competent at your job.  I… you’re smart and funny and really, so far out of my league… but I’d still really like to take you out to dinner.  If you wanted.  As a date.”

“You want to go out to dinner with me?” Coulson echoed.  “A date dinner?”

“Yes?” Clint said, wondering if everything was about to blow up in his face.

Before Clint knew what was happening, Coulson had pulled into a small side street and parked the car.  Clint opened his mouth to apologise or backtrack and somehow salvage the situation, but he didn’t get the chance when Coulson’s hand fisted in the hoodie he wore and yanked him forward over the center console.  Coulson’s mouth crashed into his in a hard kiss and Clint gasped.  As his shock gave way to a punch of lust, Clint spread his hands across Coulson’s -- _Phil’s_ \-- chest, exploring the warmth and strength of the muscle Phil almost always hid beneath his tailored suits.  Groaning softly as Phil deepened the kiss, Clint clenched his fingers in the soft fabric of Phil’s t-shirt and arched closer.  Phil tasted faintly of the coffee he was always drinking and Clint wanted to say fuck the mission and strip every piece of clothing from Phil’s body then and there.

Finally pulling back a little, Clint rested his forehead against Phil’s for a moment as he caught his breath, trying to remind himself he was a professional and sex could wait until after the mission was over.  Possibly until he’d taken Phil out to dinner at least once too, if he wanted to do things properly.  “Shit, Phil,” he said, his voice low and rough and because he still hand his hands on Phil’s chest, he felt the shiver wrack Phil as Clint said his name.  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Phil huffed out a laugh, but it didn’t sound very happy.  “I’m really not as good as everyone thinks at confessing my feelings,” he muttered.  “Besides, you’re… Hawkeye and I’m…”

“Hot?  Badass?  Secretly a car thief?” Clint suggested.

Frowning, Phil looked at him and Clint could feel Phil withdrawing even though he didn’t move.  “Clint,” he began levelly.

“Hey,” Clint interrupted, reaching up to slide his fingers along Phil’s jaw.  “Don’t do that.  Don’t shut me out.  Please.”

Phil’s achingly blue eyes searched Clint’s for a long moment, before Phil closed them and leaned close to lean awkwardly against Clint for a moment with a sigh.  Clint slid his hands underneath Phil’s jacket and trailed a soothing hand down Phil’s back.  “Sorry,” Phil whispered.  “I’m really not good at the talking about feelings thing.”

Clint snorted.  “Yeah, because I’m so great at relationships,” he said.  “But you know what I am good at?”

Leaning back, Phil arched an eyebrow in amusement.  “I’m sure you’ll tell me,” he said, the raw vulnerability on his face fading into his usual calm.

“Trusting you,” Clint said.

Phil’s eyes went soft and wide, Phil’s hand coming up to cradle Clint’s jaw.  “Clint…”

“Phil,” Clint shot back with a smile he was convinced was goofy.  “Trust is what matters.  We can talk about the rest over dinner, right?”

The smile that crossed Phil’s face was warm and soft and kind of adorable, really.  Clint wanted to make Phil smile like that as often as he could for the rest of his life.  “Yes,” Phil said.  “Dinner.  We can definitely talk about it at dinner.”

Clint grinned.

Aww, yeah.

~*~


	5. Chapter 5

Clearing his throat, Clint hesitated in front of Phil’s apartment door.  For the last month, he and Phil had been dating and it was actually kind of nice to be taking things slow.  Things had changed a little at SHIELD, but not in any way that really counted.  Phil no longer acted as Clint’s direct handler in the field and as much as Clint missed Phil’s calm voice in his ear, the fact that he got to see Phil happy and relaxed in jeans on his couch more than made up for it.  Clint was still having a little trouble believing the badass in the suit was interested in _him_ , but Phil and Natasha and Jasper were gradually changing that.  It helped that Phil was being a proper gentleman, for all that Clint teased him about it.  Clint had fallen even harder for the man beneath the suits with every shared secret and hushed conversation over dinner or coffee, because now it wasn’t just glimpses that Clint was getting -- Phil was letting him in, letting Clint see the soft belly under his armour and that made it easier for Clint to open up and show Phil his scars too.

Smoothing down the soft black sweater he was wearing over the button-up shirt Natasha had bullied him into, Clint took a deep breath and knocked on the door.  This date wasn’t really any different from any of the others, only it kind of was, because Phil was actually _cooking_ for Clint and it was a Friday and they might even have the whole weekend -- and Clint might have possibly been putting too much thought into this.

Natasha had thought so.

Frowning slightly, Clint knocked again when Phil didn’t answer.  Clint wasn’t exactly early and a quick glance at his phone told Clint that Phil hadn’t left him a message either, so Phil probably hadn’t cancelled their date because of some SHIELD emergency.  Before Clint could give in to the uneasy feeling clenching his stomach and reach for a weapon, he heard someone moving inside the apartment and a few seconds later, Phil opened the door.

In a towel.

A tiny, ratty towel that did not cover much at all.

Clint had to fight to keep his jaw from falling open as his brain checked out.   _Holy shit_.  Phil was practically _naked_.  Mesmerised, Clint watched a drop of water wind its way through the dark hair covering Phil’s chest and fought the urge to step forward and follow it with his tongue.  That probably wouldn’t be a polite thing to do before he’d said hello.  Clint had always known Phil was attractive in many different ways, but being confronted with a glistening, wet Phil in a towel was something else entirely.  Phil’s hair was slicked back from his face and without any clothes in the way, Clint could take his time gazing over all the lean muscle and beckoning skin that was just calling Clint to reach out and touch.

“Uh, Clint?”

Dragging his eyes back up to Phil’s face -- and trying not to linger on the black ink of Phil’s tattoo standing out on his shoulder -- Clint found Phil staring at him with a bewildered expression, like the fact that Clint was so blatantly ogling him was a surprising turn of events.  “Hey,” Clint said, trying to pretend his voice hadn’t just gone low and gravelly.

“Um…” Phil appeared to be at a loss of what to say, which Clint thought was kind of endearing.  Phil moved back a little, letting Clint step into the apartment.  “I’m running a bit late,” Phil added sheepishly.  “I… should go and find some pants.”

Clint grinned.  “No need to do that on my account,” he quipped.

Before he could stop himself, Clint reached out to grab Phil’s arm.  Phil’s skin was warm and damp underneath his palm and Clint tried not to just lean in and plaster himself over Phil so he could feel that warmth down to his toes.  To Clint’s amazement, Phil blushed faintly under his gaze and looked away.  Clint wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Phil so unsure before and while a large part of him wanted to wipe away that uncertainty, Clint also couldn’t help but be charmed by it.  Kicking the door shut behind him, Clint put the bottle of wine he’d brought with him on the hall table and drew Phil in for a slow, sweet kiss.  Phil mumbled something against Clint’s lips, but Phil’s hand also slid around his waist to pull him closer, so Clint didn’t feel bad for ignoring whatever it was.

“I’m guessing the lack of pants means you haven’t started dinner yet, huh?” Clint asked when he finally pulled back.

Phil cleared his throat a little.  “No,” he admitted sheepishly.  “I’m sorry, Clint.  I got caught up with a few things this afternoon…”

Clint leaned in again to stop the apology with a kiss.  “It’s okay, Phil,” he said.

“No, it’s not,” Phil replied with a grimace.  “I should have know better than that.  I promised you dinner and…”

For a second, Clint blinked, wondering why Phil was so worried about dinner.  They’d known each other for years and Clint knew just how much Phil had to deal with on a given day.  Running a bit late didn’t seem that important in the grand scheme of things, not when Phil was sorry about it anyway.  Except Phil’s shoulders were rigid with tension and he wasn’t looking Clint in the eye, not really.  “Hey,” Clint said, catching Phil’s jaw with his hand.  “What is it?”

Phil sighed and then shivered a little, because he was still only wearing a towel -- and Clint was trying _really hard_ not to be distracted by that.  Not until he’d fixed the uncertainty on Phil’s face.  “I’m not much of a chef,” Phil said, “but I wanted to treat you to a home-cooked meal.  I…”

Suddenly Clint got it.  Grabbing Phil’s face with both hands, Clint waited until Phil’s beautiful blue eyes glanced up and he was watching Clint, before Clint let all his guards drop.  It felt terrifying to be so exposed, to let so much show, but it was Phil and aside from Natasha, there was no one Clint trusted more.  “Phil,” Clint said, his voice as serious as he could make it.  “Stop trying so hard to make everything perfect.  I don’t want perfect.  I just want _you_.  Flawed and human and real.  I’m not going anywhere until you tell me to leave.”

Phil’s eyes widened and then went soft and bright.  Drawing in a deep breath, Clint let it out slowly and smiled.  “I’m in love with you,” he whispered, stroking his thumb along Phil’s cheekbone.  “Just the way you are.”

“Clint,” Phil said helplessly, closing his eyes for a moment.

“I gave away too much, huh?” Clint said softly, not sorry about what he’d said.  Phil deserved to know there was someone out there who loved _him_ , the imperfect man underneath Agent Coulson’s perfect suits.

“ _No_ ,” Phil replied fiercely, his eyes snapping open to lock with Clint’s.  “I’m just wondering how I got so lucky to not only have you in my life, but that somehow you love me back too.”

Clint blinked.  “You mean..?” he began.

“I do,” Phil said, a sweet smile spreading across his face.  “I love you, Clint, and I have for a very long time.”

Clint’s laugh was almost disbelieving as he crowded close to Phil.  Phil’s body was warm and solid against his, the muscles of his shoulders shifting under Clint’s hands.  “Well, in that case, how about we forget cooking and pants and order Chinese later?” Clint suggested, wiggling his eyebrows a little.

Phil huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes, but he didn’t disagree, so Clint dipped his head and caught Phil’s lips in another slow kiss.  The rasp of stubble was rough against his cheek from where Phil hadn’t shaved yet, and Clint felt Phil relax against him as Phil gave in.  One of Phil’s hands slid up the curve of Clint’s spine as the other settled on his hip.  Clint deepened the kiss with a soft groan, the knowledge that Phil loved him back and was going to _stay_ thrumming through his blood.

“Clint, we don’t…” Phil gasped out when he pulled back enough to suck in a breath.

“We do,” Clint countered, yanking off his sweater and tossing it somewhere behind him.  “You answered the door in a _towel_.”

Phil arched an eyebrow for a moment, before he slowly trailed his warm hands over the fabric of Clint’s shirt.  Clint shivered, wanting to feel the glide of Phil’s palms against his naked skin.  Clint pulled Phil closer, leaning in to bite gently at the edge of Phil’s jaw.  “Done being a gentleman yet?” he asked.

Phil hummed.  “Just about,” he said, his hand sliding into Clint’s hair and tugging him up for another kiss.

Opening his mouth greedily under Phil’s, Clint grabbed Phil’s hips, the towel still stubbornly clinging to Phil’s waist.  Arching forward, Clint slipped a leg between Phil’s and swallowed Phil’s moan as his hands found Phil’s ass.  Impatiently, Phil yanked Clint’s shirt from his jeans and Clint shivered as Phil’s calloused fingers traced over his ribs.  In retaliation, Clint slid his hands up the planes of Phil’s back, wanting to memorise every dip of muscle and rough edge of Phil’s scars until they were burned into Clint’s mind forever.  “You want to take this to the bedroom?” Clint asked hopefully, tearing his mouth away from Phil’s.

“That sounds like a plan,” Phil agreed, his breath catching as he ground his hips against Clint’s.

Arousal sparked through Clint like lightning.  In his chest, his heart clenched at the sight of Phil’s flushed cheeks, dishevelled hair and kiss-swollen lips.  Fuck, he was gorgeous.  Leaning back, Clint tried to unbutton his shirt and kick off his boots at the same time, only to somehow trip over his own feet in his eagerness.  Phil caught him before he could fall, just like he always did, and together they stumbled into the back of the couch.  Laughing softly against Clint’s mouth, Phil kissed him hard, before batting away Clint’s clumsy attempts to open his shirt.  “Let me,” he said.

Phil’s nimble fingers undid the buttons easily, the backs of his hands brushing against Clint’s skin and sending another shiver arcing down Clint’s spine.  When he was done, Phil stroked both palms over Clint’s naked chest and Clint’s clenched his fingers into Phil’s waist.  “So strong,” Phil whispered, his hot gaze following the path of his hands.  “So beautiful.”

Clint shuddered again, this time more from the certainty in Phil’s words than the lingering touches.  Watching Phil watch him, Clint let himself believe what Phil was saying.  “So amazing,” Phil added, leaning down to press a kiss over Clint’s heart.

Then Clint felt one of Phil’s hands move to cup Clint’s cock through his jeans, before giving him a slow, firm squeeze.  Clint gasped, his hips jerking.  “ _Fuck_ , Phil,” he said.

A quick but definitely evil smirk flashed across Phil’s face and Clint laughed in delight, pushing away from the couch.  “If you wanted to play dirty,” he told Phil, “you just had to ask.”

Phil rolled his eyes and grabbed Clint by the open edges of his shirt.  Pulling Clint with him, Phil began walking backwards in the direction of the bedroom.  Clint let himself be led, taking in the soft, happy curve to Phil’s smile and felt his heart pound in his chest with the knowledge that _Clint_ had been the one to put it there.  That Phil was his to touch and treasure and love.  The towel finally gave up its battle with gravity and Phil looked up at Clint as it dropped to the floor, his eyes filled with dark mischief.  Clint groaned.  “You’re trying to kill me,” he growled, his eyes tracing down from the dark hair covering Phil’s chest to the soft skin of Phil’s stomach and Phil’s flushed and jutting cock.

Surging forwards, Clint slanted his mouth over Phil’s, making the kiss deep and as dirty as he knew how.  The hot skin of Phil’s chest pressed against his was even better than Clint’s fantasies and he groaned, losing himself to the moment.  Continuing their stumble towards the bedroom, Clint helped Phil fight with his shirt until they had the cuffs unbuttoned and Clint could pull his arms free.  Immediately, Clint reached for Phil again, mapping every inch of Phil’s skin with his hands as Phil sucked on his tongue.  Clint was so fucking turned on, he was shaking.  Phil’s hands brushed against Clint’s aching cock again as he yanked open Clint’s jeans.  “Underwear, Clint?” Phil said, sliding his fingers under the waistband of Clint’s boxers as he panted against Clint’s lips.  “I’m almost disappointed.”

“Shut up,” Clint muttered, sucking in his own breaths as he dug his fingers into Phil’s ass.  He grinned sharply at Phil’s gasp.  “I was trying to impress you.”

“You don’t need to,” Phil said softly.  “I’m already impressed by everything you do.”

The expression in Phil’s eyes was so sincere that Clint had to grab his face with both hands and kiss him before Clint did something stupid, like cry.  A minute later, he arched his back with a curse, lightning crackling up his spine as Phil wrapped a hand around his cock and stroked.  Clint wasn’t even sure what he was saying anymore and when he felt the back of his knees hit the edge of a mattress, he blinked, realising they’d finally made it to the bedroom.  Gazing around as he tried to catch his breath, Clint grinned at the unmade bed, before his mind was filled with images of Phil sprawled across the dark sheets and he had to bite back a soft whimper.

“Can I… Clint, please,” Phil said breathlessly in Clint’s ear, his breath hot against Clint’s already fevered skin as his hands slipped out of Clint’s jeans.  “I want…”

“What do you want, Phil?” Clint asked him, bending down to suck a mark on the strong column of Phil’s neck.  “Tell me.”

Phil groaned and Clint felt the vibration against his lips.  “I want you to open me up slowly before you fuck me and I want to be able to watch those amazing eyes of yours as you do it.”

Clint’s brain went offline for a moment.  “Yes,” he growled, images of what Phil was asking for crowding his mind.  “Fuck, _yes_.”

Scrambling out of his jeans, Clint barely kicked them away before he grabbed Phil and sent them sprawling onto the bed.  He felt his stomach clench at Phil spread out beneath him, flushed and dark-eyed and perfect.  Straddling Phil’s hips one knee at a time, Clint gave in as Phil buried a hand in his hair again and let himself be pulled in for a hot, messy kiss.  Phil glided the fingers of his other hand over Clint’s arm, curling around his bicep, and Clint rolled his hips against Phil’s, needing to feel the slide of Phil’s straining cock along his own.  Phil gasped out Clint’s name, his fingers digging into Clint’s skin.  Pressing Phil deeper into the mattress, Clint dipped his head and traced a path down Phil’s throat to his collarbone as Phil tilted his head to give Clint better access.  Clint could feel Phil’s pulse racing under beneath his skin as his breath hitched.  

“Bedside drawer,” Phil ground out, bucking his hips up to meet Clint’s again.

Clint groaned.  Stretching up, he grabbed the supplies from the drawer, sparks going off behind his eyelids as Phil bit gently at the muscles of his arms.  Clint hissed, tossing the strip of condoms down onto the bed, but kept hold of the lube.  Slicking up his fingers, Clint paused for a moment to stare down into Phil’s eyes.  “Fucking gorgeous,” he muttered, sliding his other hand along Phil’s thigh as Phil shoved a pillow under his hips.

Settling between Phil’s knees, Clint breathed out a little shakily and gently slid his hand higher up Phil’s thigh.  Stroking one of his slick fingers over Phil’s hole, Clint watched as Phil’s breath stuttered and his eyes slid half-shut.  Phil gasped as Clint pushed his finger all the way in, unashamedly spreading his legs wider.  When Clint slid in a second finger, Phil shifted, looking for leverage.  Clint smirked, twisting and thrusting his fingers.  He wanted to open up slowly, until Phil was mindless and gasping, but Phil looked too perfect sprawled across the bed and Clint didn’t think he was going to last.  Phil groaned, low and needy, his head thrown back.  Leaning down, Clint caught his lips in a biting kiss, muffling Phil’s grunt as he pulled his fingers free.  His hands were shaking slightly as he pulled back enough to roll the condom on, Phil’s hot gaze watching him hungrily the whole time.  Clint squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to hang on to the ragged edge of his control, before he slicked himself up carefully.

“Clint…” Phil rasped out.

Trapped in Phil’s darkened, intense gaze, Clint felt raw, stripped down to his smallest parts, everything in the world narrowed to _Phil_.  “I’m right here,” he said hoarsely.  “I’ve got you.”

Carefully, Clint guided the tip of his cock to Phil’s entrance and then pushed in achingly slow.  Phil’s hands clenched around Clint’s biceps as Clint sank into Phil’s body, soft sounds falling from his lips that Clint wanted to hear again and again for the rest of his life.  Phil was hot and tight and Clint groaned, electricity sparking up and down his spine.  “Fuck…” Clint growled as his balls came to rest against Phil’s ass.

Phil lifted his hips, his back arching as he tried to pull Clint in deeper.  “You feel so good,” he panted roughly.

Clint dipped his head to press a kiss to Phil’s flushed skin, rolling his hips and drawing a gasping moan from Phil.  For once, Clint didn’t care what Phil could see reflected on his face as he leaned over Phil, braced on his elbow.  Phil wrapped a leg around the back of Clint’s thigh, his eyes never leaving Clint’s as he bucked his hips again.  Clint almost whimpered as the jolt of pleasure that ran up his spine snatched the breath from his lungs.  Pulling out again, Clint snapped his hips forward, hard.  Phil cried out helplessly, his hands fisting in the sheets.  Shifting, Clint caught both of Phil’s arms and stretched them above Phil’s head.  Phil groaned, his eyes so dark they were almost all pupil.  Dipping his head to suck and bite at Phil’s collarbone, Clint set up relentless pace that had Phil writhing beneath him, anchored by Clint’s grip on his hands.  Phil’s face was wracked with pleasure, his eyes burning as he couldn’t hold back the gasps and moans anymore.  Clint couldn’t quite believe _he’d_ done that, broken Phil’s legendary control so much that was as lost as Clint to the exquisite pressure building between them.

“Shit, Phil,” Clint panted.  “You’re so hot, coming apart like this…”

Clint’s chest felt tight at everything that was echoed in Phil’s intent gaze and he leaned down to catch Phil’s mouth in a desperate kiss.  Phil was hot and perfect and Clint wasn’t going to be able to hold on for much longer.  “I’m so close,” he gasped out, his thrusts getting rougher as his rhythm faltered.

Phil groaned when Clint moved one of his hands to wrap around Phil’s cock.  His back bowed, arms still trapped by Clint’s other hand, as he hissed Clint’s name and Clint felt heat crackling over his skin.  As Clint gave another powerful thrust, Phil threw his head back, moaning hoarsely as he came, cock throbbing wetly between them.  The sight hit Clint somewhere deep inside and Clint gave into it, his orgasm crashing through him, sharp and startling.  He cried out something that could have been Phil’s name or it could have been a curse, spots dancing in front of his eyes.

Slumping down, Clint rested his head on Phil’s shoulder and sucked in shuddering breaths as the waves of his climax receded.  Phil was warm and reassuringly solid underneath him as he panted against the skin of Clint’s neck, before slipping his arms free of Clint’s grip so he could wrap them around Clint.  Clint smiled against Phil’s skin, knowing he should move but not really wanting to, still caught in the lazy bliss of really good sex.  Finally, Clint pushed himself up and leaned in for a soft, sweet kiss, before he pulled free, making Phil shiver.  Clint had to grin when Phil stayed exactly where he was, spread out on the sheets all sweaty, flushed and attractively dishevelled as he smiled up at the ceiling.  Clint’s heart gave a long, slow thump.

Disappearing into the bathroom, Clint grabbed a warm cloth to clean them up a little and he laughed when Phil barely let him, before pulling him back down onto the bed.  Wrapping his arms around Clint, Phil tangled their legs together, clearly not wanting to let Clint go anywhere.  Smiling, Clint pressed closer and buried his nose in the space between Phil’s shoulder and neck.  He was content to drift for a while, curled around Phil safe and happy, and his chest tight with the warm rush of love he felt for the man beside him.  Clint wasn’t sure how long he’d get to keep Phil, but he was going to make every moment they had count.  Hovering on the edge of sleep, he almost purred when Phil’s hand came up to card through his hair.

A few minutes later, he felt laughter bubble up in his throat as Phil’s stomach gave a loud grumble.  “I guess I’m hungrier than I thought,” Phil said, his voice still a little gravelly.

Grinning, Clint lifted his head to prop his chin on Phil’s shoulder.  “I guess I should get up to order us some Chinese then?” he offered.

Phil stroked a hand along the damp skin of Clint’s back and hummed quietly.  “Probably,” Phil agreed.

Clint rolled his eyes.  “So much for feeding me,” he groused, not really meaning it.  “I should totally make you get up and cook me that dinner you promised.  I think I deserve it, don’t you?”

Laughing, Clint didn’t even try to dodge the pillow Phil smacked into his face for that.

~*~


	6. Chapter 6

Clint hurried into the elevator at Stark Tower and tried to ignore the nerves in his stomach.  It had only been about two weeks since he’d been there last, but no matter what Tony Stark insisted, Stark Tower would always be linked in Clint’s mind with what had happened in New York a year ago.  Clint still found describing everything that had happened to him in the last year to be almost impossible -- he’d gone from being a loyal SHIELD agent and boyfriend to having an alien god play with his brain like a toy and losing the love of his life in a week.  The fact that Phil had _survived_ \-- that Nick had pulled out a miracle and saved him -- was something Clint still couldn’t quite believe.  He was grateful, so amazingly _grateful_ for it, but Clint wasn’t sure he deserved his second chance at happiness.  However, deserving or not, Clint wasn’t stupid enough to not hold onto it with everything he had.

After the Battle of New York and the fallout, Clint hadn’t really been surprised when Bruce Banner had decided to stick around.  Clint was no scientist, but he was still pretty sure the labs Stark had promised were as good as the billionaire had claimed.  What _had_ surprised Clint -- and just about everyone else -- was how the rest of the Avengers had slowly gravitated back to each other too.  Now, it wasn’t strange to see Pepper and Natasha indulging in shopping trips together, or to see Rhodey and Steve training together in one of the gyms in Stark Tower, or even Clint helping Bruce cook something in the large kitchen in Stark’s penthouse.  Clint wasn’t living there, because he wasn’t insane and he loved the tiny little apartment he and Phil shared whenever they were in the same place, but it was nice to have somewhere to go where Clint could just relax and be himself for a while among friends.  Clint knew he could do that at SHIELD too, but the Tower came without the gaggles of junior agents, which was nice.

Clint and Bruce had slowly formed a close friendship and Clint had been thankful to have Bruce to talk to while he’d been dealing with what Loki had done to him.  Bruce had a unique perspective on things, and he also remembered what Clint had done for him years ago in Melbourne.  When Bruce and Rhodey had finally announced their engagement, Clint had been happy for them -- and then humbled when Bruce had asked Clint to be one of his groomsmen.  Being involved in the first Avenger wedding had been a whirlwind, but it was the kind of crazy chaos that Clint enjoyed.  Pepper had almost immediately taken over the wedding planning, radiant with happiness at Bruce asking her to be his best woman and Clint had found himself enlisted as her minion more often than not.  It had been nice and it had helped fill the spaces if missing Phil while he was off to places unknown, bringing his new team together.

Shaking off his thoughts, Clint let out a deep breath.  He was going to be late to that wedding if he didn’t get his tie straight in the next three seconds.  “Is everything all right, Agent Barton?” JARVIS asked softly.

“Yeah, sorry JARVIS,” Clint told Stark’s AI.  “I’m fine.”

JARVIS didn’t reply, but Clint did feel the elevator start to rise smoothly without him having to press any buttons.  “I guess everyone’s waiting for me, huh?” he said.

“Agent Romanoff has been pacing the area outside the elevators on the penthouse floor for three point six minutes, sir,” JARVIS replied, “but no one else has asked me for your location.”

Clint winced.  Natasha sounded pretty mad.

“You’re late,” she snapped, the second the elevator doors opened.

“Sorry,” Clint replied automatically.  “I had that psych evaluation…”

Natasha waved off his explanation as she eyed him critically.  “You also look like you got dressed in the dark,” she said.

Clint scowled.  “Thanks, Tash,” he said.  “Really.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha tugged him out of the elevator and set about fixing whatever she deemed wrong with his suit.  Clint just sighed and let Natasha do what she wanted.  It was easier that way.  Natasha, of course, looked stunning.  Like Pepper, she was wearing an elegant silver dress for the ceremony and her vibrant red hair was swept up in a complicated twist.  To match, Clint wore a silver suit with a black waistcoat and tie and a white shirt.  Pepper had mentioned something about contrasting with Rhodey’s groomsmen during the wedding planning, but Clint hadn’t really been listening.

“There,” Natasha said quietly, smoothing over Clint’s waistcoat.  “Very handsome.”

Clint caught her hand and raised it to his lips so he could kiss the back.  “And you look breathtaking,” he told her.

Natasha rolled her eyes, but the smile that curved her mouth was soft and warm.  “Come on,” she said, linking her arm with his.  “We should go and save Pepper from Stark.”

Clint raised his eyebrows.  “What has Stark gone and done now?”

“Apparently, black three-piece suits are boring,” Natasha replied.  “Pepper has been talking him out of various coloured waistcoats for about an hour.”

“What about Rhodey?” Clint asked as Natasha led him towards the penthouse bedrooms.  He could hear the arguing already.  “Isn’t Stark supposed to be _his_ best man?”

“Fury dragged him to the bar after Stark started threatening to wear his Iron Man armour to the ceremony,” Natasha said, her eyes glinting with a mixture of irritated exasperation and amusement.

Clint made a face.  Stark wasn’t that bad once you got to know him, but Clint didn’t think dealing with Stark’s brand of diva would be fun on your wedding day.  “Brace yourself,” Natasha muttered to him, before she pushed open a door.

“Tony!” Pepper was saying, hands on her hips, as she stood between Stark and the wardrobe.  “This is Rhodey’s wedding day.  You’re going to wear what you’re supposed to…”

“Pepper, I’m just trying to add a little flare…” Stark protested, hugging a bright red scrap of fabric to his chest.

Clint took in the scene in three seconds, his eyes lingering on the way Pepper looked especially beautiful, her hair pulled sleekly back and nothing out of place despite running herd on Stark -- but when Clint saw who was standing in the corner, his thoughts promptly derailed.  Phil hadn’t escaped the madness, but was instead tapping something out on his phone, seemingly bored with the whole situation.  He was also already dressed for the wedding ceremony in his black three-piece suit and on Phil, the suit was nothing even close to _boring_.  The faintly shiny material of the jacket clung to the breadth of Phil’s strong shoulders, while the waistcoat hugged his waist and stomach and somehow, the silver of the tie and the white shirt made Phil’s eyes seem almost overwhelmingly blue.  Clint had seen Phil in many different suits over the years, but this one was definitely becoming Clint’s favourite.  Phil looked _amazing_ and if Clint hadn’t made a promise to Bruce, he’d probably be trying very hard to lure Phil into one of the guest bedrooms right then.

“Barton, you’re a man of style!  Help me out here,” Stark said, breaking into Clint’s increasingly erotic thoughts.

“Huh?” Clint said, glancing away from Phil.

“Tony, I am telling you, it is the silver waistcoat or I am going to let Phil tase you!” Pepper snapped, clearly at the end of her patience.

At the sound of his name, Phil looked up and when he saw Clint, he smiled, his eyes crinkling.  Clint smiled back and walked over, ignoring the way Natasha was giving Stark her best glare as Pepper snatched the red fabric away from him.  “Hey,” Clint greeted softly.

“Hey,” Phil replied, pocketing his phone, before letting his eyes slide over Clint appreciatively.  “You look good.”

Clint cleared his throat.  “So do you,” he said.

“Do not get each other messy!” Natasha called out from behind them.

Clint shrugged a little helplessly and smiled at Phil.  Phil glanced behind them at Stark, before he nodded towards the door.  “I think Pepper’s got Stark under control,” he said.  “Shall we go get the grooms from the bar?”

Blinking, Clint glanced at Phil as he fell into step beside him.  “Bruce is drinking?”

“Just tea I think,” Phil replied, his eyes doing the crinkle thing that Clint so loved again.  “Although, I’m not sure I want to know how many scotches Nick has fed Rhodey by this point.”

Thankfully, when they reached the rest of the guests and the wet bar that Stark had set up -- complete with uniformed bartenders -- Colonel Rhodes didn’t look too drunk.  That might have had something to do with the way he was gazing warmly at Bruce and ignoring everything else around him, but Clint didn’t want to judge.  Both Natasha and Jasper insisted he was exactly the same every time he got around Phil these days.  Clint just couldn’t help it.  With Phil flying all over the world with his new team, Clint didn’t get to see him nearly as much as he liked.

“Barton,” Fury greeted from the bar.  “Did everything go well today?”

“Uh, yes sir,” Clint replied, a little weirded out at seeing Nick Fury dressed in something other than his black leather trenchcoat.  He looked very handsome in his own three-piece black suit -- but it was still weird.

“Good,” Fury said, smiling.  “Want a drink?”

Phil huffed.  “Will you stop trying to get the entire wedding party drunk before the ceremony,” he said, glaring at Fury reproachfully.  “It’s bad enough that Stark has tried to change his clothes six times already.”

Rhodey shrugged.  “At least he’s not trying to wear his armour anymore.  Everything else is fine,” he said.

Somehow, probably due to the combined superpowers of Phil and Pepper’s efficiency and outright stubbornness, they got everyone in the wedding party standing in the right places and all the guests seated with a minimum of fuss.  The ceremony itself was short and sweet, and Clint absolutely did not tear up when Bruce and Rhodey read out the vows they had written each other.  Even if he did, when he’d locked eyes with Phil opposite him, Phil had been smiling that slow, warm smile that never failed to make Clint weak at the knees and proved Clint wasn’t the only one feeling a little mushy.  When Rhodey had swept Bruce into a dramatic kiss as soon as he was allowed, Clint had laughed, bright and loud, his eyes sliding back to Phil’s until Natasha had elbowed him sharply in the stomach.

As soon as the ceremony was over and the new couple had been announced, Clint got rid of his jacket and tie and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to the elbows.  There was only so long he could stay in a suit without getting itchy and while Natasha rolled her eyes, no one actively tried to stop him.  Clint probably wasn’t worth the trouble after Stark.  The food was as good as Stark had promised and the booze was free and flowing, so it wasn’t long until the party got into full swing.  Clint smiled, looking out at all of his friends having fun and the way Rhodey and Bruce were swaying close together, completely ignoring the music as they talked quietly with each other.  Tony and Pepper were tearing up the middle of the dancefloor much to the amusement of half the guests and Natasha was standing off to the side, debating something fiercely with Fury and Jasper.

It was a great party.  Clint kind of hoped he could have one just like it one day.

“Is everything okay?” Phil asked quietly, coming up beside Clint and resting a warm hand on the small of Clint’s back.

“I’m great,” Clint said, turning to him with a smile.  He let his gaze trace over Phil’s face, taking in the extra lines he’d gained since they’d first met and how his eyes were just as calm and blue as they always had been.  Phil looked relaxed and a little soft around the edges, despite the tailored suit and Clint had never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.  “Dance with me?” he asked.

Phil glanced over from where he’d been watching the happy couple.  “Of course,” he said, holding out his arms.

Clint stepped happily into them, leaning against Phil’s solid strength as they began their own slow sway to the music.  Clint had a ring of his own sitting safely in his pocket, but he was happy to wait until later to ask Phil the question he’d been working up the courage to voice for the last three months.  He was pretty sure Phil wasn’t going to say no.

Right now, though, he was wrapped in Phil’s arms and they were dancing and really, there wasn’t anywhere else Clint wanted to be.

 

Fin.


End file.
